


The Lord of the Opera

by sauron-the-stupendous (jesus_girl)



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Emotions, I've just modified the lyrics, KEEP YOUR EYE ON THE TAGS or you might be shocked, Like, M/M, Romance, Some Fluff, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, angbang, but I'd call it classy crack, eru is such a square, it's a bit like moulin rouge: the story is supported by songs not written explicitly for it, melkor is such a precious dork, musical fanfic, oh this is almost a, sauron is everyone's favourite angry redhead, sexual tension will be resolved rather easily though, songmakers will be credited separately, the valar are kinda jerks, their emotions will be showing, their just emotional walruses give them time, written dark lord-glorifyingly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-15 14:12:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5788252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesus_girl/pseuds/sauron-the-stupendous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I would never question Ilúvatar…”<br/>“But why him?”<br/>“I believe it’s all the time he spent in the void as a vagabond.”<br/>“Aye, that ought to mess you up proper and good.”</p>
<p>A “musical fanfic” about the mightiest Vala who went out of his way to seduce a redheaded Maia – but especially all the glory and peril which ensued up until the Dagor Dagorath.<br/>There is some canon-compliance, but there will be a lot of canon-divergence and downright canon-negligence, so this is set in a kind of an alternative universe.<br/>And yes, they burst out into song, Disney-style.<br/>This is cracky but it is not only crack. You have been warned: Unexpected feelings may ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mighty Arising

**Author's Note:**

> So here it is. My first "proper" contribution to this fandom. Or the first chapter of it.  
> (The facepalmable title just shows what happens when I'm simultaneously obsessed with the Phantom and the Silmarillion.)  
> I thought I'd have so much to say about this but now that I'm here I think you'll figure it out as you read.  
> Have this introduction for young innocent Arda and the problematic Ainur.
> 
> Disclaimer: I owe everything (and an apology) to Mr J.R.R. Tolkien. All recognizable Middle-Earth legendarium and its heroes and heroines are his beautiful intellectual property. I also owe none of the music (only the modified lyrics) referenced in this work: Their respective creators will be credited at the end of each chapter.  
> I'm doing this simply for the joy of being emotionally unstable trash.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> if you want to hear the melody for the lyrics: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y2pSWACoXqA

** _i – Mighty Arising_ **

The First Music was done, Arda had been sung into being.  
It was time for the most powerful of the Valar to descend upon it, to rule and to shape until and for the coming of the First Born.  
There was one among the Ainur whom departed from the skirts of Ilúvatar with unmatched vigour: He was none other than the mightiest Vala, the true first born – Melkor, Mighty Arising.  
  
As soon as Eru had shown them the earthly form of their “magnum opus”, the unnamed longing in Melkor’s feä had ignited, becoming an all-consuming burning: In a blink of a still-figurative eye he’d left all behind.  
And then, just as swiftly, he’d blinked the eyes of his magnificent embodiment, finally witnessing the land that was to be his domain. Young Arda was ethereal in it’s quietness in those first moments, in untainted darkness and shadow under the stars.  
  
“It’s glorious”, the Vala gasped, feeling a great urge to simply create: Under his gaze all became compliant; stone easily bendable, the air carrying a breath of a promise for life.  
“Yea, ‘tis glorious indeed, yet leaving so much to be desired”, he mused, completely oblivious of the newcomers materializing around him.  
With a simple flick of the wrist Melkor delivered his first deed upon Arda: A vast sea of fire and molten rock burst and ate at the landscape, thrilling, scorching heat undulating all over, enveloping everything.  
Mighty Arising saw it was good – nearing perfect – and his laughter was delighted and booming: In that moment he was fulfilled and so very happy…  
  
“Brother mine!” came the indignant, shrill cry of the Lord of the Air; self-congratulatory golden boy and bothersome imp, Manwë Súlimo.  
Melkor turned to face his delicate (and utterly disgruntled) visage with a huge grin plastered on his considerably darker features.  
“Aye, dearest thought-brother; I agree. It is rather grand… And yet only the beginning! Hearken to me now…” he started, only to be interrupted (once again).  
“Eru forbid! What hast thou done? This land was to bear joy and fruit, not this nasty corruption and peril…” Yavanna sobbed theatrically. For Melkor it was then nigh impossible to stop himself from rubbing his temples, let alone from rolling his eyes.  
“Peace, Yavanna. You can plant thy gardens elsewhere and bathe in your abundant tears for all I care. Here thou shall behold the majesty of my first lava-lake, which I shall name…”  
“This is Almaren!” his star-crossed sister-in-law, Varda, snarled at that.  
“Yes, land to be specifically inhabited by the Valar, of whom I undeniably am the finest example and specimen. So pray, do tell what the problem is?” Melkor countered – although he by no means truly intended to stay, not with these people and not while the whole world was waiting beyond that lake. He had absolutely no patience for such petty quarrels, not with this living canvas within his reach…  
“This is not His design”, Manwë spoke solemnly.  
“Quite right; it is not. It is mine”, Melkor confirmed proudly.  
“Hearken here, brother!” Manwë thundered and, as if on telepathic command, all the Ainur present at that moment gathered ‘round to sneer at his majestic lava-lake.  
“Thou hast already sown thy discord thrice during our song. We will not allow you to mar Arda any further.”  
“Mar Arda?” Melkor spluttered, but as it was wont to happen that day, he wasn’t allowed to speak (which was ironic, really), no:  
The Ainur started to hum a harmonious tone with his dear brother taking the lead, singing:

“ _There’s a chord that escaped you_  
_that the Ainur sang to please Eru_  
_but you don’t really care for music,_  
_do you_?”

“Excuse you?” Melkor huffed but was successfully ignored and levelled with a hard glare.

“ _It goes like this; the fourth, the fifth_  
_the minor fall, the major lift,_  
_Ilúvatar composing the Great Music!_ ”

Manwë’s voice was indeed flawless, not a wayward note; thoroughly mastered and well taught: It was pristine, to put it simply, just as the voices of the other Ainur as they raised their voice to sing:

“ _The Great Music,_  
_The Great Music,_  
_The Great Music,_  
_The Great Music_!”

Melkor was in a word appalled. And he knew full well that he was under no obligation to stand and listen to this disgrace in silence. And yes, so he sang, silencing the others:

“ _Let’s get this straight; you all are gods,_  
_but you’re being played like mindless dolls_  
_where were you when they set alight_  
_our feä_?”

Mighty Arising shook his head in contempt and whispered: “I do pity you all”, before continuing:

“ _Here’s a thought: a fall, a crash,_  
_a major *boom*, a mighty *crack*:_  
_my very own design for my Arda_.”

Melkor chanted “ _for my Arda_ ” four times more, emphasising the word “my” a little more each time. (By the last note his whole demeanour was so extravagantly smug, one could say he beamed compared to the other Ainur’s sour faces which were horrified at the sacrilege before them.)  
“Methinks”, Varda spoke then, voice as cutting and cool as the icy light of her stars, “you’d better just leave. We’ll uh… clean up after you, Mighty Arising.”  
“With pleasure, milady”, Melkor answered with a leer. The Dark Vala gave a bow and sauntered off, freezing his fire-ocean over with a single off-handed gesture, leaving behind an ominous range of featureless statues. He surrounded himself with a cloud of dark smoke and disappeared from Almaren.  
“I would never question Ilúvatar…” Varda muttered.  
“But why him?” Yavanna completed.  
“I believe it’s all the time he spent in the void as a vagabond”, Manwë shrugged.  
“Aye, that ought to mess you up proper and good”, Aulë conceded.

Yet among the condescending Valar and the scared and scarce Maiar, one Ainu approached the regal form of the hardened lava in silent awe. This particular Maia had witnessed it all without a word – the outburst, the prideful peak, the red, velvety surge and the final unhesitant choke – a strange sense of wonder and calling cradling him, almost as if caught in a memory of a distant dream.  
“It’s…” he whispered to himself, albeit almost unwittingly, “Glorious”, he let out in a sigh.  
It was truly mere coincidence that he was overheard by Aulë who walked up to him saying: “Ah, ‘tis a pleasure to find another Maia of the earth. I think you will like it very much in my house for I am Aulë the Smith, and the fashioning of all earth is my labour.”  
The Ainu hearkened to him and gazed indifferently at his supposed peers. He nodded, thinking he rather liked the sound of his future work.  
Only this Maia could not help but return to the petrified sea of flames while he still could. He felt a song build up within him, and there in his solitude he sang to the desolation, using his embodied voice for the first time:

“ _It’s as if I’ve seen it before,_  
_known those flames when they first did soar_  
_I felt at peace just as I_  
_watched them_.

_Like I’ve seen that face, each line and arch,_  
_The Great Music leaves me parched,_  
_it’s oddly cold and scarce, this unmade Arda_ …”

He knew it not then, when the last words seemed to echo into the night, but things weren’t quite as simple as they seemed. Indeed not, since this particular Maia had a shock of hair resembling a ruby inferno and eyes which would blaze many-a-time with his temper.  
It did not take long before he worked in Aulë’s buzzing forges, known by the name of Mairon – The Admirable.


	2. The Admirable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are immense egos, Mairon is done with everyone by principal and Melkor has _no_chill_whatsoever_.
> 
> If you wish to have the melody for the song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ecmXus1zJXQ  
> (I could not find an instrumental version which had the "intro" too, so I'll mark the part in which the music kicks in with a *)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter has been sitting a while because I'm not completely satisfied with, but at this point I guess mostly. (As you can probably guess, I'm not someone who grasps "regular posting". Sorry for that.)   
> Also the featured song is the first thing I wrote for this fanfic, so.   
> Enjoy!

ii – The Admirable   
The beginning of Arda was a tremulous time: the first Valarin wars were fought as the Mighty Arising tried to bring his vision into being and the other Valar desperately tried to mend and make everything the way they had been told to do.   
  
Nothing Melkor did was anywhere close to the design of the Music of Creation – overlooking the fact that he, too, had sung it: Indeed, the Ainur had great differences of opinion when it came to what exactly was Melkor’s rightful place on earth.   
  
As it turned out, not much: Before long a certain lump of muscle, Tulkas, descended and managed to send the Dark Vala into exile, seething and bitter. If he could have, he would have sung a whole other world for himself then, but alas, he could not, for even as he dwelled in the void once more, he learned yet again that no trace of the Flame Imperishable was there.   
  
It filled him with anger and resentment to think that he with all his potential and all his ideas should be the one to leave. After all, he was the only one who could run the place all by himself if he only was given half a chance!   
  
He thought about his faithful Balrogs – not much intellectual company there, but definitely faithful – and he thought about his wargs, spiders and all the exquisite creatures, all the flora and fauna he’d made to feast on shadow. They were alone there now, probably being persecuted by the dimwits ruling his domain.   
  
No one may see as he sees, but he desperately needed to get back to all he started, raise mountains and dark forests, rival the stars with his own flame. Nay, the void was no place for one such as him! He had a kingdom to reign.   
  
Yes, he returned to Middle Earth… Only to find that it was now ruled by two garish lamps, bathing everything in light, forcing his creations to wither of cower in places well hidden most of the time. Even the barren north was tarnished with the pale glow of Illuin.   
  
He witnessed the stirring of Yavannas creation and his anger rose as he made his way to the northernmost place he could, where all he had created mostly delved. And there he started planning his next move… 

–––   
  
The time of the lamps was considered a rather uneventful time – which it truly was. The Valar knew to be wary as they witnessed proof of Melkor’s return but as nothing really happened they grew calmer and went on with their lives.   
  
Yavanna was the one who mostly suffered from his return for he corrupted her creation – and because of this, Aulë too shunned him with a passion. Melkor was not unaware of this and made the most of it by visiting his forges time and time again.   
  
Then again it was possible that very soon the reason of his visits shifted.   
  
There was one Maia of the Earth the talent of whom surpassed his peers by far. In fact, he was arguably the most skilled of all the lesser Ainur, at the very least in his own opinion: The Admirable they called him.   
  
Already very early his smithing became so great that he was cast in a very important role in raising the lamps. He was Aulë’s right-hand man in that project and it was then when he understood his superiority compared to the other Maiar.   
  
Oftentimes he found that he did not exactly share the ideas of the other Ainur. He realized that they seemed to have an unwavering collective understanding about what the world should look like, what Arda should essentially be.   
  
None of the Maiar could really remember the Music of Creation, but they had an unwavering knowledge of it in their feäs. Mairon on the other hand… did not. He, too, had a “melody” which to follow but it seemed to be one of a kind and without harmony. Mind you, he did not much care, nor did he share what lay in his own heart, but he was rather proud to be set apart. At least until he caught the eye of a certain someone.   
  
What he quickly learned at the unwanted return of Melkor was that he was in many essential ways the opposing force to all of Aulë’s – and Yavanna’s– creation, for he wielded their powers combined, but in a design completely set apart.   
  
The first time Melkor appeared in the forges Mairon couldn’t help but be taken aback by the sheer power that was wreathed about him. He involuntarily shivered as the air seemed to grow thick with a force emanating from him, commanding and dominating.   
  
Then he opened his mouth and all of that dissipated.   
  
It seemed surprising to him how this vigilant could arrange so much time to torment the dwellers of Almaren and how amused and accomplished he seemed when he simply got a rise from The Smith of Eru. He must be extremely bored and lonely for all that he was supposed to be worth, he thought.   
  
Then came the day when said Vala knocked on the door of the forge while Aulë was absent. And just had to notice Mairon.   
  
“I’m working”, he said as a means of introduction, hoping that Melkor would just stop staring and go.   
  
“I can see that”, came the response and his hopes were soon crushed. He was not blind, and so he admired Mairon’s work, and once Aulë caught on to that, he essentially told him to leave his most prized Maia alone – which worked to achieve the opposite.   
  
The idiot would taunt him if only to break his indifferent exterior, and once he actually got something out of Mairon, he’d proceed to pry about his life and then brag about his own achievements.   
  
Mairon sometimes slipped up and actually seemed impressed for a split second. And didn’t that just encourage him further. For one who had no sense of detail, he just had to notice everything about Mairon – who soon learned that his lack of sense of detail didn’t translate into a lack of appreciation for it. He tried – and failed – to not show how his praise affected him. But try as he might, his pride, thirst for recognition and lust for compliments were probably the first things Melkor learned about his “new target”. (He couldn’t help it: Being praised by someone so powerful who, in addition, hated everyone was flattering his ego.)   
  
Then Mairon started sharing details about his work, his plans and projects and ideas, no matter how much this horrified him afterwards. Aulë would have him by the neck if he ever found out that he confided anything – no matter how little or in clipped sentences – to the archenemy of… basically the world. He just seemed so invested! Why, why would he care at all about his experiments or drafts or…   
  
Unless. Unless he was using him as some sort of pseudo-spy! Logically thinking Mairon knew that the information he shared could scarcely be of such importance. Then again his any part of his vast knowledge was precious beyond measure and combine that with all of Melkor’s flattery?   
  
He wanted Mairon. Needed him for his own ends, the inadequate fool. Not going to happen, and he told him as much in a terribly rude sentence telling him to crawl back to whatever dark hole he came from.   
  
He was about to leave when suddenly…   
  
“Hold up, insolent Maia!” Melkor shouted at Mairon’s retreating back. For a reason the smith himself couldn’t completely comprehend, he stopped but didn’t turn to face his intruder. He sighed deeply as he felt Melkor’s hand right at his shoulder, and before he knew it, he was spun around.   
“ _Darkness is many a splendored thing! Shadows lift us up where we belong, all you need is night-time!_ ” he spoke enthusiastically.   
For his troubles he earned an unimpressed quirk of an eyebrow and a “do tell me more, Ô Dark Vala” which dripped with sarcasm.   
  
Melkor was not put off in the slightest, as much was clear as he made to sing:   
“ _You only need the night!_ ”   
“ _Even so the lamps will shine, a pity_ ”, was Mairon’s nonchalant answer.   
“ _Turn away from light!_ ” the Vala sang with a smirk.   
“ _What of my smithy?_ ” Mairon asked, gazing mockingly at the blazing forges.   
Melkor shrugged: “ _Fires in the dark make quite a sight…_ ”   
Mairon gave an irritated sigh: “ _Realize you’re talking in vain_.”   
  
Alas, this did nothing to discourage the Vala:   
*“ _Darkness would look good on you Mairon,_  
 _you’d look great in darkness too._ ”   
“ _Excuse me, are you calling me ugly_  
 _or are you just this bad with words?_ ”   
  
“ _If you’d just try_  
 _for just one night…_ ”   
“ _No can do_  
 _since it’s with you._ ”   
  
“Come on, Mairon. You know you want to”, the Vala teased:   
“ _In the name of might,_  
 _one night in the name of might!_ ” he sang, but the Maia remained completely unfazed.   
“ _You’re a crazy fool,_  
 _I won’t give into you_.”   
  
At this Melkor’s pride was struck.   
“ _Don’t think so lowly of me,_  
 _I can survive without your nit-picking ways,_  
 _but you, can you thrive without me?_ ”   
  
“The nerve!” Mairon thought silently, grimacing at this menace.   
“ _Some people could fill the world_  
 _with their petty egos_ ”, he sang sweetly.   
“ _I look at you and I see_  
 _that it is so_ ”, Melkor agreed.   
“ _Some people want to rule the world_  
 _with their blown-up egos…_ ”   
“ _Well, what’s wrong with that,_  
 _I’d like to know,_  
 _‘cause in that you’d excel!_ ”   
  
Suddenly he was spurred into motion by a new surge of passion for his cause, and his voice grew and he made the shadows climb and lurk closer to them as he sang:   
“ _The Dark Side lifts us up_  
 _on mighty thrones_  
 _on my mountains high,_  
 _where no eagles fly!_ ”   
“ _Methinks your Dark Side’s_  
 _filled with fools_  
 _who’d make logic aghast_  
 _for one mighty blast!_ ”   
  
And – surprisingly – at that moment Melkor was surer than ever: this Ainu was what he needed. He had no plan, as usual, just pure “go-with-the-flow” inspiration: “ _We could be rulers_  
 _for many an age!_ ”   
And this finally made the redhead stutter, probably from pure shock as he regarded Melkor as if wondering if he’d hit his head many times on the way to these forges. His hair and eyes sparked sharply and he looked at Melkor suspiciously.   
  
Much to his chagrin the same unnamed sense of recognition, which had hit him the very first time he’d seen the Vala upon Arda, peaked up now and he shook his head forcefully thinking that he really must be over-working himself. Or maybe being surrounded by half-wits had bored all his senses…   
“ _You, you would be mean_ ”, he snarled.   
“Well, I’m not exactly nice”, Melkor shrugged.   
“ _And I… I’d be angry all the time!_ ” he continued receiving a silent gasp of “shocker”.   
“ _We should be rulers!_ ” Melkor sang, leering.   
“ _We can’t do that_ ”, Mairon answered, hating the way his words sounded – as f he wanted to be persuaded. Madness, that’s what was taking him! He turned away from the pestering oaf.   
“ _We should be rulers,_  
 _and that’s a fact!_ ”   
“ _No, nothing_  
 _would keep us from failing!_ ”   
“ _Except my power_  
 _with your order…_ ”   
  
And now Mairon hated Melkor for seemingly having a point. Suddenly, he could picture it. He could see himself taming the hordes of powerful creatures Melkor had just left to idle in the world. He could see himself actually harnessing Melkor’s fire for something useful, a cause, a meaning, a… reign. He knew this idiot had more power than anyone. So he faced Melkor once more as the other sang:   
“ _We could be Dark Lords_  
 _forever and ever!_ ” and he answered:   
“ _We could be Dark Lords_  
 _forever and ever!_ ” and then they sung together:   
“ _We should be rulers…_ ”   
“ _Just because I,_  
 _am the best of Valar!_ ”   
“ _And I,_  
 _am the greatest Maia…_ ”   
  
How confused and excited could such a supposedly ominous being look? Mairon actually felt amused, looking up at him.   
Sweet Eru: this Vala, the one everyone was so afraid of, had absolutely no clue at all, did he?   
“ _How wonderful life is_ ”, Mairon sang, raising his hand to Melkor’s face,   
“ _when you’ve inhaled too much sulphur_ ”, he ended, flashing a grin and tapping a grey cheek.   
  
He proceeded to turn away from the flabbergasted Vala. He was so done with this day. Upon entering the forges he ran into Aulë.   
  
“Where have you been, my boy?” the smith asked and Mairon forced himself not to cringe too visibly at being called a boy.   
“Oh, just the usual, my lord”, he explained off-handedly, “fending off idiots.”   
He felt no need to offer any more detail; he simply wanted to return to his work. He wanted to pretend that he was completely unfazed by everything that had been said.   
  
Yet he could not rest that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A sincere thank you to Baz Luhrmann for his inspiring Elephant Love Medley (from Moulin Rouge), and an apology for turning it into a Dark Dork Medley, too.   
> (+ no you sinners, Melkor _did not_ mean the "one night" like that... yet.)

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 1: Thank you Leonard Cohen for unwittingly inspiring "Melkor's Theme"/"The Great Music" with your "Hallelujah".  
> Let me know what you think about this!


End file.
